


Our Everlasting Bruises

by lunarlakes



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, POV Third Person, Post-Split Panic! at the Disco, Pre-2009-Split Panic! at the Disco, Swearing, Time Skips, small chapters, why are there no synonyms for shoulder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlakes/pseuds/lunarlakes
Summary: Brendon and Ryan love each other. They have living proof: matching tattoos. Or they did, anyway. They shouldn't have gotten them done, in hindsight. They didn't know what would happen to them, and how obsessed the world would become with their relationship. How obsessed one would be with the past, and how the other lives to forget it.But the tattoos still stand as living proof.Or they will, anyway.(Third-person, Time-skips 2008 and 2016)
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Sarah Orzechowski/Brendon Urie (Brief)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Our Everlasting Bruises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whoever is reading](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=whoever+is+reading).



> My first fanfiction in about four years. Inspired by an idea I had written in my notebook from four years ago. I hope you enjoy.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While "Iron, Neon Lights, And Weed" was written before I came up with the chapter title idea, I wasn't actually aware of how similar they were until now. I'm not going to change it though, I like it
> 
> ~~(and i can't think of anything better)~~

***[2008]***

The tattoo parlour is lively as they walk in together, fingers brushing as Brendon grips the artwork slightly too hard with excitement. He bolts up to the desk to a bored-looking girl behind the counter. She looks out of place with her novel and bare arms.

"Hi! Um, w-we'd like to get these done. Now? Is that okay?" Brendon rushes, grinning as he proudly shows the artwork to the girl like a preschooler to his mother.  
"Yeah, you'll uh- have to wait for about 20 minutes before our next slot. Just fill these forms in first." She mumbles, shoving two clipboards towards Brendon.

They sit down next to each other with their clipboards. Brendon fills his in at lightning speed, not really reading it as he ticks that he is, in fact, over 21 and that he is definitely not under the influence of alcohol and/or drugs at the current moment. Ryan's a bit slower, forgetting that his first name is actually George, not Ryan. Brendon jeers at him when he corrects his name, laughing loud for the whole of... Wait, Where were they? On tour, somewhere in America. Sure. For the whole of Somewhere, USA to hear.

They should not be allowed to have tattoos done right now.

They're simple designs, really: A sun and a moon. Gold and blue. On each of their left shoulder.  
"Why is the sun always been depicted as gold and the moon is always depicted as blue? They're... not." Ryan mutters dumbfounded, staring at the artwork again with blown, blown pupils.  
"Well, we both like them. That's all that matters, right?" Brendon responds, frowning at his lover's remarks.  
"Of course," He adds softly. They gaze into each other's eyes, smiling wide, their eyes even wider. Ryan can't tell if he's in love with Brendon or so high off his face that he'd dedicate a tattoo to him. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind, it's just a tattoo. No big deal.

Tattoos on your shoulder fucking hurt. Way more than on your forearm, they find.

Regardless, they both walk out of the parlour hand-in-hand with newly acquired ink on their shoulders. They catch a cab back to the hotel, shocked that they even remember its name. Forever bound to each other in the form of little ink swirls. Forever bound to a theme of a song, an album, an era of their lives.

***[2016]***

Brendon nurses his whiskey as he warms up his voice. He knows alcohol is bad for the vocal cords, but fuck it. He's an alcoholic and you can suck his dick. He stares into the mirror, foundation in hand as he coats his left shoulder with the paint. The tattoo actually healed quite well for an impulse decision on a cold night in... Nevermind. At least that what he tells himself. The gold and yellow ink faded just enough so it's barely visible from a decent distance, especially a crowd in a venue. However, the black outlines of the sun still remain. It's clearly obvious that _something_ is there, and he doesn't want to risk chances of it being exposed. Not that it matters that much anyway, because, by the time he gets to take his shirt off midway through the set, his unfathomable amount of sweat he produces each night removes most of the foundation anyway. Fans still notice, get curious. Nosy. Why can't they just mind their own business for once?

"Dumbass fuckin' bottle!" Brendon huffs, bashing the last remnants of the liquid onto his shoulder and smearing it over with his hand.

At that moment, Sarah inches through the door of the cramped bathroom. "You good?" She asks, smiling softly.

"Yeah, I'm... fine. Just putting on this stupid paint stuff." He sighs, glancing over at his wife. His heart stops for a moment, awed at her almost divine presence. After being together for so long, she still manages to make him fall for her just by the look in her eyes. It's almost powerful enough to make Brendon forget that small sun on his shoulder he's trying to cover, what it represents. Who it represents.

And just like that, the overwhelming thoughts of him come back, and it's all too painful again. Brendon finishes covering his tattoo. A tattoo from a time that, looking back, was a mere minuscule moment of drinking too much, doing too many drugs and thinking- no, _believing_ that life isn't so bad after all, and maybe it'll work out with him.

Well, it didn't. And now they're both wounded by that reality; shared bruises in the form of tattoos.


End file.
